


Stitches and stones may break my bones

by Pikkulef



Series: Daredevil Post S3 Collection [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-10 16:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17429108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikkulef/pseuds/Pikkulef
Summary: Post S3.Matt goes back to crime fighting, but when things go wrong, there's no good nurse Claire to patch him up.[It's not so much graphic depictions of violence, rather graphic depictions of wounds.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more than one chapter.   
> English isn't my mother language so feel free to correct me if you see mistakes !

Entering his apartment from the roof, Matt had to stop to steady himself by grasping the guardrail just as he stepped in. It had been a rough night, rougher than usual. But he had managed to get what he wanted. And a good old beating at the same time. He was winded by the run, but as soon as he tried to take a deep breath in, both to get back on tracks and to get the feeling that he was, indeed, home at last, multiple sharp painful points in his side stopped him. One was kind of dull, too, which wasn’t good news either. He groaned. Time to assess the damage.

He limped to the sofa, nearly collapsing while going down the stairs.

So. One knife wound – the dull point. Deeper than just skin. Right side, a little above the pelvis, but it was, from what he could feel, only muscle tissue that was damaged, nothing _too_ deep. The knife had sliced through his side, in one long cut, from front to back, as he had tried to avoid the blow by swaying his hips.  
He took his right hand away from the injury, where he had kept it pressed during his run back home. It didn’t seem to be still bleeding. Rubbing his fingers against each other, he felt the blood was relatively old and already half congealed. Not too bad. He could take care of it himself. Anyway, Claire had been out of the picture for a long time. He didn’t even know what she was about these days. Maybe it was better, for her. Not that he’d want anything from her – he just wanted her to be okay. After all, she had decided to step out and he respected that.

Two cracked ribs… no, one cracked, one broken. That’ll take time, but he’ll live. Not the first time it happened.

Concussion? … probably. Not good. He had had too many lately. He was feeling slightly dizzy. But holding up.

One… broken toe? _That_ was new. He tried to remember when that might have happened. One of the men he had been fighting had dropped a heavy object – a brick, maybe? – on his foot at one time, but it could either have been from one of the few kicks he had given them. Foot meets jaw. They were thick headed, these guys, he thought, unable to suppress a wince.

With Melvin behind bars, he still had to make do with what he had. Which was not much. No protective gear – nor shoes. But he wasn’t going to stop. A full array of shady people was already trying to get scraps from Fisk’s once again fallen empire… well, not so fallen. He was trying to keep a metaphorical eye on Vanessa, but she was proving to be a stealthy one. A spider, safe above her web, just like her husband. Infuriating.

He was derailing. His thoughts were all over the place, unable to focus. Back to the toes. He’ll just tape the broken one to the next and that’d be it. Nothing much to do for this, anyway. Maybe he’ll try to find better shoes, some kind of safety boots. He had that, before.

He took off his makeshift mask and rested his head against the sofa. Everything was spinning. It felt as if his head was constantly falling towards his right shoulder. No, that his entire body was falling towards the right. Not good. His inner ear still had fits from time to time – fresh head trauma wasn’t helping. He sighed.

He licked his lips, tasting blood. His nose was full of it, too. There was a cut at the corner of his mouth, but some of the bleeding seemed to come from inside. He must have bit his tongue or cheek at one time or another – teeth seemed okay. The fight in itself was already blurry in his mind. But he had caught the man he wanted, and delivered him in one piece, if a little bruised, to the next precinct. He couldn’t help a smirk from forming on his face. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was back. In poor shape as he was right now, it felt good.

He heard a church somewhere strike 4:30. He’d just sit there and get his bearings for a while, then he’ll shower and get to bed, and he’d be relatively fine by morning. But, for now…  

“Karen. Karen. Karen. Karen.”

The phone ring made him jump. He must have drifted off a little. Why on Earth was Karen calling him so early? He hurried to get up to take his phone, managed three steps, and fell.

Shit.

“Karen. Karen. Karen.”

He groaned. Something had torn in his side. He got up, enough for a few steps before he had to rest against the wall. Once again, it felt like his head was suddenly tipped on his right side, as if it was weighting tons, dragging his whole body in its wake.

He had been pissed drunk before, in college, and that’s what it felt like. Minus the exhilaration brought by the alcohol. He remembered Foggy had told him that yes, you could see everything moving when it wasn’t. Ugh. At least he was saved that. 

The phone had stopped ringing. He wished it had not, as he had lost track of its location at the same time as he had lost his train of thought.

He rested his head against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to recede. He smelled blood. But it must be from what was still in his nose and mouth. No need to freak out.

“Karen. Karen. Karen.”

It was just there, on the bedside table. Matt gathered his strength and leaped to his bed, snatching the phone. He lied down on the bed first, trying to get his bearings – his head was spinning furiously, and he felt the need to adjust his position a few times. Then he picked up the call.

“Uh, yeah?  
“Where the fuck are you?” There was both concern and anger in her almost whispering voice. She did that when she was angry. But more concern. Oddly enough, when this exasperated him before… now it produced a warm feeling in his core. But he didn’t understand what she meant by this. He had just lied down for a while…    
“What, now? I, uh… What time is it?” He never took his watch with him at night. It was fragile… and in Braille. Not only was it expensive, it was something he didn’t want people to find on him. He always left it on the kitchen counter. Far away. He tried to concentrate on the outside sounds, but it was too hard. Better ask.  
“Matt?  
“Yeah, uh, I’m fine…  
“Matt. It’s nine thirty. You’re not fine. I’ve called you four times since eight.  
“Nine…? did you…?  
“We were supposed to meet at Fogwell’s to set things up, remember?” Concern was growing in her voice. He could feel she was trying to hold it down.  
“I - I remember.  
“Foggy got called to the precinct. The suspect from Mrs Perez’s case was caught. He should be back soon.” A pause. Her voice lowered – it was obviously unconscious. “It was you, right?  
“Yeah. Piece of cake. He just had… a lot of friends…  
“Goddamit, Matt...” There was a pause, as if she was trying to think about what she was going to say. “I’m coming.  
“No, I’m okay, I…  
“No, you’re not okay. You don’t sound okay at all. If you don’t want me to come, fine, I won’t, but… let us help you, Matt. Let your friends help. Please.”  
Matt sighed. Not in exasperation – not towards Karen, and her pleading voice, that, somehow, scared him a little. It was exhaustion. And capitulation.  
“Okay. But please, don’t freak out. I’ve had worse. You’ve _seen_ worse, okay? I’m just… it’ll pass.  
“Hell, Matt! I won’t freak out. I’m coming. Don’t move.”  
Matt rested his head against his pillows, and drifted away once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen isn't freaking out. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, I was planning to post it this week-end but I will not have the time, I think.

This time he wasn’t startled awake. The sound of keys at the door, then the door opening and closing, had raised him. But not enough to move. He knew it was her anyway.   
“Oh my God…”   
A whisper, at the other side of the apartment. Keys fell to the floor. Then she ran. Towards him. As she grew closer, he managed to pick up her heartbeats. Frantic. He was also slightly concerned he couldn’t focus better on them from the beginning.   
He forced himself to open his eyes to show he was awake, and let out a feeble:   
“Hey, Karen.”

Blood. There was blood everywhere.   
On the wool covers that were always on his sofa. On the floor. On the wall – a big hand print, where he had obviously fallen. On the bed. And on him.   
“Oh my God, Matt…” she couldn’t stop her voice from trembling.   
He was white as a sheet. He was still wearing his black clothes, mask nowhere to be seen. The shirt was damp with blood on his side, on a layer of older, dry blood. She tried not to panic. She had seen worse. Had she? He had clearly underestimated his wounds.

“Since when do you have the keys to my flat?”   
Yet, he still had enough strength to try and whisper a  joke… and smile that crooked smile. But it was only a ghost of a smile, half a wince.   
“Since I paid the rent for a year.” Karen forced herself to reply sternly as she sat on the bed next to him.   
The smell of her skin, and her light, flowery perfume eventually became stronger to Matt, effectively erasing the smell of his own blood still in his nose. It made him feel better. Oddly safe.   
She had come back to that place where she had had a hot chocolate last time. Her breath was still holding some of it. The memory of the short time they had spent in that place warmed him. He did feel cold, right now...    
“I’m practically your landlord, now," Karen was continuing, "You still owe me nine months. Take off your shirt.”   
  
Matt sat up, slowly, and tried to do so, groaning in pain. Karen hesitated, then helped him getting out of it. They had not been as close since that time in the crypt. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She didn’t know how to interpret it. Matt caught the speeding of her heartbeat, and a rise in temperature in her hands – first painfully cold as they barely touched the skin of his belly, then warming as they neared his head. He decided against commenting on it.

A deep cut ran in Matt’s side just above his hip. It was covered in spots of fresh and dry blood, making it hard to make out the edges. Karen tried to look closer, her fingers hovering above the wound, not knowing what to do. The glimpse of the red, bloody flesh under his cut skin, slightly moving with his breathing, made her nauseous, and sent pins and needles in her fingers. She closed them in a fist and drew in a deep breath. She would be no use if she let herself go.   
A few black bruises were starting to bloom on his torso, at various places; he had one on the side of his head, too. Some superficial cuts here and there too, new scars that would be added to his ever growing collection.   
“Hell, Matt…” She sighed, her voice choking in her throat. “There’s… there’s nothing I can do about this...” Her voice was shivering, but she kept control. Matt felt sorry for her. To inflict that on her. He was opening his mouth, ready to say so, when she continued. “You need a professional. We need to bring you to a hospital. I’m sorry, but that’s the only…   
“No.” He shook his head unconsciously, which felt like his brain was crashing against the inside of his skull. He had to adjust his head again a few times, his balance lost.   
  
Karen tried not to panic as she saw Matt tilting his head a roughly a dozen of times on the right, as if shaking something off, his eyes turning white each time. Then he stopped, and seemed to blank for a short while.   
“Matt, you should… you should see yourself… you’re losing blood. Your flat is covered with it. It’s slow bleeding, no big artery or the like, thank God – you wouldn’t be still alive if so. But it’s bleeding nonetheless. We need to do something about this. I don’t want to lo – ” She stopped, as if she was going to say something else, and gave up. “You need medical care. Now.”   
Matt closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and stopped when it started aching – everywhere. He let out a soft groan. He knew who to call. It was obvious. This was going to be painful in more ways than one. But did he have any other choices?   
Besides, somehow, he missed her.   
“Okay. No hospital. But I know who we could call. Give me my phone, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you expect a big show down between Karen and Claire you are going to be very, very disappointed.


End file.
